


Writing History

by orphan_account



Series: History [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Ori is a shy idiot and so is Thorin, Self Confidence Issues, Slow Build, so slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori has been in love with Thorin ever since he first met him, and has always known his love would never be returned.<br/>After all he's nothing but a small scribe, and that great and wonderful king doesn't even know who he is.<br/>But when Thorin asks him to follow him in a desperate quest, things may change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writing History

Being a scribe wasn't glamorous. Being an _apprentice_ scribe, even less so.

Ori still liked it. Master Balin was a good teacher as well as a kind one, and he knew many important people.

Like King Thorin.

Who technically wasn't really a king at all, just a prince, since he'd never been properly crowned yet. But he walked and talked and stood and acted every bit like a king, and that was good enough for Ori. Not that he would ever tell him that, of course. He never talked to Thorin. Thorin who was a king. A very handsome king, proud and regal and incredibly kind and caring for his people.

Ori was more than a little in love, he had stopped denying it long ago.

No harm in that, he thought. Many people before him had been in love with a great king from a distance, and as long as Thorin didn't know, all would be fine.

And Thorin would never know, because he didn't know that Ori existed. Ori was just a scribe, one of many in the mountain, and one who didn't matter because he was a mother's son and the brother of a thief, even if everybody pretended to really believe that Nori was just a wandering merchant of trinkets. Ori still wasn't sure why Balin had taken him as an apprentice, when there were so many other young dwarves coming from better families waiting for such a chance. He suspected an old friendship between his master and Dori.

Thorin would never know he existed.

And it was just as well.

* * *

 

When Balin and Thorin started talking of going back to Erebor, Ori was given the task of writing down the minutes of their conversations and to make reports concerning the most urgent problems.

It saddened him that his master and his king would be going on such a dangerous travel, but he did his best to help them. It was the least he could do, really. He took notes, made lists of the main risks and problems as they were evoked, and once or twice he even dared to mention things they hadn't thought of but that could be problematic, or solutions to these problems.

It was a very bold move on his part, he knew it, but he just hadn't been able to stop himself from doing it. It was his duty to his king to help in any way he could, after all.

No one seemed to mind. Ori wondered if they even noticed his additions, or if they just thought they had been more clever than they remembered. He didn't mind. As long as he could help them stay safe, he didn't mind. And certainly, sometimes he wondered if he should help less, just to keep them in Ered Luin a while longer, but the idea never stayed long. They would leave sooner or later, and if they left sooner, then there were more chances of success, if Thorin was to be trusted.

And Ori trusted Thorin implicitly.

* * *

 

The king's nephews were thrilled at the hide of going away on a great quest. Fili at least seemed to understand the dangers of it, but Kili was particularly excited about it, dreaming of great heroic deeds.

“We should take you with us,” he told Ori. “You'd write down our story along the way, and we'd have great fun, the three of us!”

“I don't think I'd be of much use,” the young scribe answered. “I'm not much of a fighter. You'd do better if you took Gimli, he's more the sort to go on a quest.”

“He's too young, and his dad would never let him come. And you're a better fighter than you think. You'd just have to train a little more intensively for a few week before we go! Seriously, you're terrific with a war-hammer, and...”

“I'm not terrific,” Ori protested. “Not like you are, or like mister Dwalin is. And I doubt your uncle will bother with any _dead weight_ , not on a trip like this. It's nice that you think I could do it, but we all know it would never happen.”

“You're too modest! Balin says that's your greatest fault.”

“A scribe is never too modest. It's our job to work in the shadow of great people.”

Kili groaned, the idea of ever being in the shadow obviously painful to him. Ori wondered at Fili's long silence, and turning to the older prince, he discovered that Fili was watching him, a strange expression on his face.

“Is there a problem, my prince?”

“Hm? No, I was just thinking. Tell me, Ori, do you really think that you'd never be accepted on such a quest, or just a way of saying you wouldn't go even if given the chance?”

“Oh, I would love to go! It's... it's like Kili said, I'd get to record everything as it happens, and I could draw all of your uncle's followers and make them all immortal, and... It'd be a dream come true, following him to Erebor! But I... I doubt he'd ever ask me, and it'd be ridiculous of me to volunteer, and then, there's Dori... well, you know Dori.”

Fili grimaced and nodded. They soon changed the subject after that, and though Ori wondered had been so curious about his desire to come, he didn't dare to ask any questions.

* * *

 

A few days later, Ori found himself alone in Balin's house, classifying some letters to be send, and some answer just received, depending on how urgent and how important they were. It was not his favourite part of the job, but it had to be done, and so he did it as well as he could. After all master Balin had trusted him with it, and he would have hated to disappoint.

He did not expect king Thorin to come in.

Then again, Thorin always surprised him, as if the mere fact that he'd share the same room and air as him was some sort of small miracle.

In Ori's opinion, it was.

“C-c-c-c-can I h-h-help, your highness? I-I-I-I-I'm afraid m-m-master Balin isn't h-h-home.”

“I know,” Thorin replied, his deep voice sending shivers through Ori's spine. “It was you I came to see, master Ori.”

“M-me?”

“Indeed. As you know very well, I soon intend to leave Ered Luin and to attempt to reclaim my kingdom, our homeland, with the help of all loyal dwarves willing to follow me. I have found some already who will take the risk, and there are others yet whose help I seek. You are one of those to whom I would ask to accompany me.”

“Me?” Ori repeated, cursing the way his brain had gone blank.

“Yes, you, young master. I have since long thought that should such an attempt be made, I would desire the presence of one gifted in the way of words, so that our deeds may one day be shared with the world. I have carefully thought who this talented scholar should be and you, master Ori, are my first choice.”

“Me?”

“You. I could of course have required it of Balin, but he will have much to keep him occupied, and I would not torment him with yet another task. Should he have been free of other duties, though, my choice would still have been on you, for your talent with written words is a secret to none. Master Ori, would you accept the honour of being my Company's scribe, to hold our records, and tell of our adventures with all the truthfulness you can muster?”

“ _Me_? I mean. I mean yes, I! It's! I'd love to! I really would, just. It's.”

So much for a talent with words, Ori thought bitterly.

He took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down. He could not embarrass himself, not when master Balin had probably recommended him to the king. Balin, and maybe Fili, now that he thought of it.

“It honours me greatly that you would think of me for this,” he said, his voice higher than usual. “And I would want nothing more than to accept, but I doubt my elder brother would allow it.”

“That is no surprise. But should he allow it, you would come?”

“Of course!” Ori exclaimed, offended that anyone could think he was making excuses. “It would be my honour and my pleasure to follow you anywhere, my king!”

Thorin seemed surprised by that declaration, and the young scribe blushed and looked down.

“I am not king yet,” Thorin kindly remarked. “But it pleases me that you would follow me as one. I will take care of your brother, master Ori, so I would advise that you start packing, since our departure is now imminent.”

“Yes, my king. Thank you, my king. I'll finish my work here and go pack!”

Thorin smiled then, and left.

It took Ori almost half an hour to recover from that conversation (Thorin had talked to him, had asked personally for him, wanted him in his company! Oh, he'd be happy with just _that_ , even if Dori didn't allow him to go). And even once he felt in control again, his hands kept shaking as he sorted the letters, a task that had suddenly become the most difficult and boring thing he had ever done in his life.

* * *

 

Dori was waiting for him that night when he came home, looking furious and worried all at once.

“Is it true that you have agreed to follow Thorin wherever it is he’s going this time?”

“Oh. I didn’t think he’d come and tell you _today_.”

“It’s true then?”

“Of course it’s true. Thorin is a king, he wouldn’t lie.”

“Thorin isn’t king yet, and even if he were, it wouldn’t make him more truthful than the rest of us,” Dori replied dryly. “Why did you agree? Ori, he admitted himself that it would be dangerous, that he could not guaranty your safety. He’s not _king_ , you are allowed to _refuse_ when he gives you an order.”

“He didn’t give me any order,” Ori protested. “He asked me, and I said yes, because I want to go with him. Please, Dori, don’t say I can’t go! It’s a great chance for me, I’ll be his company’s scribe, and who cares if it’s dangerous, I’d… I’d do something _great_!”

Dori looked sad then, sad and older than his little brother had ever seen him.

“I won’t forbid it, not if that’s what you really want. I can’t forbid it, you’re old enough to decide for yourself. But I’m coming too, to keep an eye on you, and I’m telling Nori.”

Ori nodded. That seemed fair, and he had rather expected Dori to do something like that. Well, that he would tell Nori was a bit of a surprise, since they didn’t get along that well, and it probably spoke of how worried Dori was.

* * *

 

Nori too decided to come.

Ori didn’t know how his brother managed to convince the king to accept him in his company.

He decided he didn’t want to know.

He was just happy that his brothers cared so much for him, and at the same time annoyed that they trusted him so little.

* * *

 

They left Ered Luin without Thorin, who had to meet so emissaries from the Iron Hills and, led by a strange human, they went to the Shire. The company, at this point, counted eight people: Ori and his brothers, Gimli’s father and uncle, and three other dwarves that Ori had never met in his life. They were supposed to soon be met by Kili and Fili, as well as master Balin and his brother, who had gone ahead to settle a few things.

Ori didn’t feel very comfortable around all these new people, and did not talk much to any of them, though they seemed nice. They all seemed content to ignore him anyway. People always ignored the scribes.

Except for the tall, old man who called himself Gandalf. He seemed very interested in Ori.

“You seem terribly young to go on such a travel,” he noted one night, as they were resting in an inn. “I am surprised Thorin allowed you to come. I believed dwarves valued their young ones greatly?”

“I’m _almost_ as old as prince Kili,” the young dwarf mumbled in reply. “And I’m a full adult, I’ve passed the ceremonies and I could make my own house or get married if I wanted, so I’m perfectly fit to come.”

Gandalf chuckled. “I didn’t mean to insult you. But you do look rather young, and I thought you wouldn’t be more than fifty or sixty.”

“I’m seventy-five!”

“Then you’ve barely passed the ceremony, am I right? That is dreadfully young. But I trust Thorin knows what he’s doing. He’s not one to make a decision lightly. Now, do not look so glum, master dwarf. I say it again, I mean no insult, and if anything, I am glad that you will be one of us. The person I hope to convince to join our little adventure will certainly appreciate to have someone to talk to, if he is anything like I remember him to be, and I myself always like the company of well learnt people. Especially if they are willing to learn some more on the way.”

“I think we are always learning, mister Gandalf.”

“Then we should get along just fine.”

* * *

 

The friend of Gandalf they were going to visit was a hobbit, and a very nice one at that, though maybe a little nervous. That they would take with them a nervous halfing burglar when they had Nori with them was a little beyond Ori, but he wasn't sure what agreement his brother had with their king, or even how he'd managed to be recruited, and so he kept silent.

He was fairly sure Mr Baggins wouldn't really come with them anyway.

But at least there was good food, and some very nice beer. Of which Ori had more than he should have, thanks to his sitting next to Kili, and close enough from Nori. He wasn't drunk as such, but he certainly was tipsy, and he felt more _relaxed_ than he had been since they'd left Ered Luin.

Until Thorin joined them.

All of his worries and tensions came back then.

Tipsy and tense was a bad combination.

Tipsy and tense had people standing up suddenly, claiming that they weren't afraid of dragons, and that they'd give one dragon a taste of dwarvish iron up his jacksie.

Ori really wished that _he_ hadn't been the one to say that. Not because it wasn't true (well, the part about not being afraid _was_ a lie, but if he ever had to face the dragon, he'd do his best, as they all would, for Erebor and for their king) but because it was bad enough that he was the youngest of the group, and now they would all think he was just as immature as Kili.

Certain that Thorin had to be regretting asking such a foolish child to work for him, Ori quickly sat down as Dori ordered him to, and lowering his head, he missed the small smile on the king's lips.

* * *

 

He did _not_ miss the way the king glanced at him while they all went to the hobbit's living room to sing together, but before he could decide whether it was a good or a bad glance, Dori walked in front of him while Nori came to stand behind him, and the king's eyes left him.

* * *

 

They left early the following morning, without the hobbit, but with a terrible hangover in Ori's case. He hadn't drunk more than anyone else, but he was less used to it, thanks to Dori's great theories about alcohol and the weakening of morals.

He didn't rejoice when Mr Baggins ran out of nowhere with his signed contract. He had too much of a headache to rejoice about anything. But the fact that he was no longer the youngest of the company _did_ please him a good deal. Maybe Dori would smother the hobbit now, instead of him.

* * *

 

It was underestimating Dori greatly that to believe he couldn't be insufferable toward two people at once. The fact that Mr Baggins didn't mind that much, _liked_ it even, didn't help. Ori almost hated the hobbit for encouraging his brother's mother-hen tendencies, but at the same time he was a nice travel companion, and a scholar after a fashion, and the young dwarf couldn't dislike him entirely.

Mr Baggins was very shy for the first few days, starting conversations with no one beside Gandalf, and looking half ready to run away each time one of the dwarves talked to him. But after some time he started relaxing around them, and when Dori and Ori had the idea to ask him about his life in the Shire, he started blabbing and wouldn't shut up. They didn't mind. Hobbits were fascinating creatures, if a little strange.

“Are you saying that you _cut_ your hair?” Dori asked one night, sounding every bit horrified.

“Of course I do,” the hobbit answered. “Don't you? Ori's hair can't naturally look like that, can it?”

“We _style_ it,” Dori admitted. “But we don't cut it short like you seem to do. It's... I can't imagine having short hair, it would be... well, we would look rather terrible, I'm afraid. No offence, Mr Baggins, but with your curls cropped like that and no beard, you look like a child. I can't believe this is an accepted appearance among hobbits.”

“Well, it is, and as it happens, I'm not too ugly for a hobbit. I'm not the handsomest one around, but I'm still a catch.”

The dwarves all threw him a suspicious look. The topic of conversation had attracted everyone's attention, even those who normally didn't care for the hobbit wanted to know how his kind handled hair and beauty. The little one seemed rather surprised by the sudden attention, but he wasn't as scared of them as he had once been, and he bravely went on.

“ _Women_ have long hair,” he explained, “and they might braid it like you do, though they usually don't, and long curly hair is part of what makes them beautiful, though it's not all. But for a man to have long hair, it would be... well. I'm not saying it would put his virility in doubt, but actually yes, a little?”

That got him a concert of grunts and grumbles, the dwarves' pride hurt at the idea that hobbits might think them unmanly because of their hair, when to them it was the epitome of virility to have a great long mane.

“What's attractive for you then?” Mr Baggins quickly asked before they could get angry at him.

They all stopped grumbling then.

“I think Dori is a perfect example of typical beauty,” Ori said after a moment. “You know, the classical things described in poems? Hair of mithril, round nose, strong hands... that's how they describe Nordri in the old song, isn't it?”

Dori's protests were drowned under everyone's agreement.

“But that's for the norms for craftsmen,” Ori added. “I think for warrior standards, you'd have to look at Gloin. Of course, in the song Sudri had coal hair, but it's still close.”

“Who is Sudri?” Bilbo asked.

“Sudri and Nordri are heroes of a tragic love stories,” Thorin explained, making both the hobbit and Ori jump. They hadn't noticed the king approaching, and he was now so close that his cloak almost touched Ori's shoulder. “Their story is one that every dwarf knows,” the king added. “And if you are lucky and we have time, you might hear it. But one needs not be the living image of these legends to be considered handsome. Take a look at Ori, he may not fit any great hero's description, but I do not think any of us would deny that he has great beauty.”

The young scribe felt his cheeks heat at these words. It got worse when the others seemed to _agree_ with the king, but thank the Maker, Dori quickly made them change the subject, asking about hobbits' songs and heroes. Sometimes, just sometimes, Dori's protectiveness had good sides.

Still, it was oddly pleasing to know that Thorin thought him handsome.

Of course, it probably didn't mean anything.

* * *

 

While Mr Baggins was a fairly nice companion, Ori soon found an even nicer one in the person of mister Dwalin.

For the first few days, Ori had had the feeling that the immense warrior didn't like him much. Dwalin would often watch him and glare at him for some reason, as if the young scribe had done something to personally offend him. It was fairly strange. Ori had seen Dwalin many times before, working for Balin or watching the princes train, and his master's brother had never seemed to notice him before.

No one ever noticed scribes.

It was a surprise when one night, the warrior came to sit next to him, and asked him what weapon he favoured.

“I don't really like weapons,” Ori admitted shyly. “I'm not a warrior, not like you.”

“I'm not asking you what you like, I'm asking you what you're _good_ at. Fili say you're a good fighter but I have some doubts.”

“I'm not good, not by far, but I do my best. I'm really terrible with a sword, too. Well, I'm a scribe, I can't really get anything sharp near my hands, right? But I sometimes did okay with a hammer, and I'm rather good with a slingshot, if I say so myself.”

“You use a hammer and a _slingshot_?”

“I don't use anything at all if I can help it,” Ori corrected softly. “I am a _scribe_. I suppose that makes me fairly worthless in your eyes, but that's what I am, and I'm proud of it.”

Ori didn't know what reaction he expected then, but Dwalin _laughing_ certainly wasn't it.

“Yeah, I'm starting to see.”

“See what, exactly, mister Dwalin?”

“Why Thorin chose _you_. I thought you were just a pretty but useless little thing, but there's some stone in you.”

The younger dwarf frowned, wondering if he should be pleased or offended by what he thought was maybe meant as a compliment.

“Don't look at me like that, lad, I meant no harm,” Dwalin assured him with a grin. “I have a better opinion of you than of our burglar, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Surprisingly, it _doesn't_. If the best thing you can say about me is that I'm less useless than someone who's had no training at all with weapons, knows nothing of the Wild, and is here neither for fame nor duty, but just because Gandalf thought he needed to get out more, than I am _insulted_.”

Dwalin laughed again.

“You're right, lad, that was fairly insulting, and I shouldn't have said that. As an apology, how about I help you train? I can lend you my hammer, if you want.”

Ori hesitated. He rather _liked_ training as a rule, though he rarely did it back at home. He never had the time for it, and when he did, Dori and Balin always reminded him that he had to be so careful with his hands, that they were his source of income. Training was so _risky_.

“I'm not sure it would be a good idea,” he eventually answered. “If I hurt my hands, then I'd really be useless to the king, and I can't risk that. But thank you for this offer, I appreciate it greatly. It is an honour that you would deign to train me.”

“I don't _deign_ , lad. I leave _deigning_ to people who do politics and such things. If I offer to train you, it's because I think I wouldn't lose my time with you, and you could improve fast. So if you change your mind at any moment during our travel, come and see me, I'll make sure to have time for you.”

Ori smiled at that, and thanked him sincerely, though he was quite sure that he'd never accept that offer.

Still, after that, Dwalin came to talk to him rather often. Dori didn't approve at all at first, until it became clear that the warrior had no intentions toward the young scribe, and that he only wished someone to talk to, someone who liked old stories and knew much about the world. All that Ori had read about, Dwalin had seen it and they talked about it, comparing their knowledge of this or that place, sometimes with Mr Baggins adding something he'd read in an elfish book. And then, if there really was nothing more interesting going on, Fili and Kili would join them too, apparently fascinated both by Dwalin and Ori's stories.

It was a little sad that Thorin glared at them so much when they had such discussions, as if he disapproved their having fun when there was danger ahead, and sometimes it made Ori feel bad. The last thing he wanted ever was to disappoint his king.

But it was all so terribly nice, and he couldn't truly wish for things to change.

* * *

 

“Ori, have you ever considered getting involved with someone who’s royalty?” Fili asked one night.

The young scribe stared at him in surprise. Fili sometimes had strange ideas, and asked very unexpected questions. He’d always seemed oddly interested in Ori’s love life, though he’d never shown any signs that he wanted to be a part of said love life (it was a secret to no one that Fili felt a lot more than admiration for mister Dwalin, and that his long hours of training were due to _more_ than his wish to become a great warrior).

Which made that question all the more worrying.

They had just stopped for the night in the ruins of a farm, and the fact that it seemed like recent ruin had Ori more worried than he would have liked to admit. That place made him feel very bad, though he did not dare to say it, not wanting to be taken for a coward.

“Well, have you ever thought of it, then?” Fili insisted.

“I can’t say I ever have,’ Ori replied. It wasn’t a lie. He like to think of himself as pragmatic, he knew that he had no logical chances of ever catching Thorin’s interest. And when, in his wildest dreams, he dared to imagine that the king could feel some sort of affection for him, he knew that nothing could be allowed to happen, not with who is mother was, not with Nori as his brother, not when he was a scribe and a boy, not when Thorin would certainly be expected to marry a woman some day and to give heirs to the line of Durin.

Ori knew his place in life. It was somewhere far behind Thorin, to serve him as well as he could, but it would never be by his side.

“Well, maybe you should think about it then?” Fili suggested, sounding half annoyed and half hopeful. “If we reclaim Erebor, many things will change, you know.”

“Fili, are you… are you trying to… please do not take it the wrong way, my prince, but you are a dear friend to me, and I should not wish to see our friendship destroyed, and…”

“I’m not trying to court you!” Fili protested loudly.

“Who’s trying to court Ori?” Kili cried, running to join them.

“Fili, I think,” the young scribe kindly informed his friend. “But I’m telling him I’m not interested.”

“I’m not trying to court you, Ori!”

“Why not?” Kili asked, exchanging a grin with the scribe. “He’s a very nice dwarf, and very pretty too, even uncle said so. And he’s clever. You should want to court him. Everyone should want to court him. Don’t you think everyone should court you, Ori? I’d do it myself, but I happen to prefer girls. Sorry, Ori.”

“No offence taken,” the younger dwarf assured him, fighting not to giggle.

“But you, Fili, should really court him,” Kili resumed, putting on an overly serious face. “You’d be perfect together. You need someone with some brains, and Ori… well, Ori doesn’t need you at all and would probably be better off without you, but I’m sure he’ll be kind enough to have you anyway.”

At that point, Ori had to press both hands against his mouth to keep laughing out loud, and Fili was the very picture of indignation.

“I wouldn’t court Ori in a thousand year!” he all but yelled. “He’s about the last person I would _ever_ court, and…”

“What are you idiots _doing_ now?” Thorin snapped behind them.

The three young dwarves jumped. None of them had heard the king approaching, and they all looked down to the ground, suddenly terribly aware of how loud they had all been.

“We were just having a bit of fun, uncle,” Kili mumbled. “We weren’t doing any harm!”

“Even if that is true, you were making far too much noise. You and your brother should try to make yourselves of use for once. You could go watch over the ponies, hoping it isn’t a task too far above your talents?”

The two princes quickly nodded and ran away, clearly glad to get away with such a light scolding. Fili in particular had gone very pale after seeing his uncle, and even as he went away, he seemed more than a little worried.

But he certainly wasn’t as worried as Ori felt. It was one thing for prince to fool around and be goofy, but he should have found himself something to do. There were always chores to do. It was a thing he’d learnt very young from Dori, and it had been just as true during their travel so far. The last thing he wanted was for Thorin to think he didn’t do his share of work.

But the king, strangely, seemed more concerned than angry.

“I hope my nephews do not bother you too much, master Ori. They sometimes have a sense of humour that is in rather poor taste. Do not hesitate to tell me if they cause you any problem.”

“N-n-no! It’s I-I-I-I’m fine! We were j-j-j-just laughing, my k-king.”

Thorin frowned, but nodded.

“I know you young ones are friends, and it pleases me. You have a good influence on them. Still, even as a joke, they shouldn’t have laughed at the prospect of anyone courting you. These things are serious matters, and should not be discussed so lightly. Courting and engagement are important decisions, not to be made fun of, and it would pain me if my nephews’ jokes ever made you feel unworthy of affection.”

Ori felt so warm that he was sure his cheeks had to be glowing.

“T-t-t-they meant no h-harm. B-b-but thanks for your con-con-con… thanks for being k-kind.”

Thorin frowned some more then, and Ori lowered his head again and hunched his shoulder, hoping the ground would swallow him. He’d never felt more uncomfortable in his life, and the idea that Thorin would think he couldn’t take a joke pained him more than he would have thought. Just because he was a scribe, and thus a little less dwarvish than the princes, didn’t mean he didn’t know how to have fun. After all, he had laughed just as much as Kili.

“I trust you to tell them if they go too far,” Thorin told him. “But if they don’t stop, do not hesitate to tell me, or to go to your brothers.”

And, apparently done with his little speech, he turned away and went back to talk to Gandalf and Dwalin, leaving behind a very embarrassed Ori.

Things just couldn’t get any worse.

* * *

 

Things got _worse_.

It involved trolls, and an awful lot of fighting, and Thorin deciding that Mr Baggins' life was worth more than all of their combined, and ordering them to drop their weapons when the trolls threatened the hobbit.

It also involved Ori being tied to a tree to be cooked above a great fire.

He didn't scream, he didn't yell. He didn't even cry. If he was going to die, he was going to die while keeping his dignity for as long as possible. Which wasn't going to be very long, considering how dreadfully _hot_ he was, but he'd still do his best.

But then, Bilbo and Gandalf rescued them, at the last minute.

He did cry a little then, but tears of relief were a very different matter from tears of fear. He was allowed _these_ , he decided.

* * *

 

Then, because it wasn't bad enough yet, it got worse again. A madman with rabbits came to talk to Gandalf, and their ponies disappeared, and wargs came.

Wargs and _orcs_.

Ori seen pictures of them in books before, and he had heard descriptions, from the princes, and from his brothers, and from Dwalin and Balin of course. But as it turned out, the idea of an orc and his mount was a good deal less terrifying than the _actual_ thing. He could never have imagined alone the noises they made, and the awful _stench_ of them.

For the first time since they had left Ered Luin, Ori found himself wishing, really, sincerely wishing that he hadn't come. Not just because he was afraid (though that had a part in it too) but also because he felt utterly useless. If it came to fighting, he knew there was nothing he'd be able to do to help the others, not with his silly tiny little slingshot. He was so worried that he stopped paying attention to his surroundings, and when everyone else stopped running to hide behind a rock he kept going. He would certainly have been spotted by the orcs then, if a strong hand hadn't caught him and brought him back to safety.

A hand that belonged to Thorin, and held him firmly against the king's chest until all danger was gone. Ori had to use all of his self-control not to press against the older dwarf's body. This was not the moment. There would _never_ be a moment.

“Be more careful, master Ori,” Thorin grunted in his ear. “I would not want to lose you now, when we have already come so far.”

The young scribe certainly didn't shiver when he heard that deep voice, nor when he felt the king's breath against his skin. He did close his eyes for half a second, to better memorize a moment that he knew would never repeat itself. Half a second, and then they had to go running again.

But for hours afterwards, he still felt the warmth of Thorin against him.

* * *

 

Nothing of interest happened during their stay in Rivendel. It was a nice enough place, if you didn’t mind the terrible food. It wasn’t that Ori didn’t like green things (he had learnt long ago that he couldn’t really afford to be picky, not with how tight money had always been for them) but what the elves gave them was raw, or boiled at best, and it barely deserved the name of food at all.

He ate it of course, because he was hungry and there was nothing else and he couldn’t really go and ask for chips. But it put him in a dreadful mood for the entire first evening there.

At lunch, the next day, there were chips. Ori didn’t know how or why the elves had suddenly changed their minds and given them something proper to eat, but he silently thanked Mahal for it and devoured every single chip he could get his hands on. And then, he heard Bilbo mention that the elves had a library, and that they had agreed to show it to him. It did not take long for the young dwarf to obtain a similar permission, and he spent the next two days of their stay there surrounded by books. He had entirely forgotten Erebor and the quest then. Books and chips and, at night, the memory of these brief few second when Thorin had held him: that was all he needed to be perfectly happy.

“You are in a dreadfully good mood, Ori,” Bilbo noted after the young dwarf had squealed in delight upon finding a collection of tales he had never heard of before. “I would never have thought that dwarves could like written words so much.”

“Then you don’t know dwarves at all, mister Baggins. We held written words in the higher respect. That is to say, some of them. We have the runes, and our sacred language, and these are holy above all things, because they are a present from the Maker himself. An ancient text written with runes is worth more than a thousand golden coins.”

“Then, as a scribe, you have to be someone very important, right?”

Ori rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Not at all! I write in Westron, that’s… that’s not worth a thing. Anyone can do that, and scribe are… well. It’s not the best job around, but I still like it very much. And if I work hard for many years, I might some day be as respected as Master Balin. _He_ is allowed to write texts in the old tongue, because he has proved his worth and the worth of his words. I haven’t. You’ve got to have shown you won’t waste the words before you’re allowed to write runes, you know?”

“That’s a little… strange,” Bilbo protested. “How can you _waste words_?”

“Oh, it’s very easy. Everyone wastes words. I suppose we are wasting words right now. The thing is, you should only use words when they mean something, really mean, you know? It doesn’t matter too much when you waste them and they’re just from the common tongue, but with the sacred language, it would be an insult to our ancestors and to Mahal that to use it for just anything.”

“Then what _can_ you use it for?”

“For old, great songs, that speak of the past or the future. For promises, and for swearing loyalty to someone. For… For offerings of love, too.”

Ori certainly did not think of Thorin then, just as he had never tried to imagine how he might make his feelings known. He had never imagined it, because it would never _happen_.

“You mean that if I were to declare my flame to a dwarf, I’d have to do it in that… language of yours?”

“If you were to be taken seriously, then yes. Only, you could never do it, mister Baggins, of course.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Because you are not a dwarf,” Thorin said behind them, making them jump. “And only dwarves can be taught Khuzdul, such is our law. With what Ori told you now, You already know more than anyone else outside our race.”

It hit Ori like a blow. He hadn’t thought much of it, Bilbo had been with them for so long already, and it had been so nice to talk of something he knew well, but he probably shouldn’t have. Balin and Dori and Oin would be _furious_ at him.

“I’m so sorry, my king!” he cried. “I meant no harm in telling him that, I forgot for a moment, and…”

“You have done nothing wrong, master Ori,” Thorin assured him, coming closer and putting a large hand on the young scribe’s shoulder. “If I had thought it wrong for mister Baggins to learn anything about our culture, I would simply not have allowed him to come, or I would have given all of you specific instructions. I did not. I trust your judgement to decide what can and cannot be disclosed, and I know you, master Ori, will _never_ do anything unwise.”

“Except run when I shouldn't be running,” he mumbled. “And attack orcs with a slingshot. I-I'm anything b-but wise, my king.”

Thorin frowned, and appeared about to say something, but Bilbo beat him to it.

“Now, my boy, you're too harsh on yourself! I've done far worse than you, trying to pickpocket a troll, and then being used as a handkerchief, and I don't feel so bad about it. You've done great so far, Ori, and if you don't see it, then I'll just have to frequently remind you of how brave and clever you are!”

“You sound like Dori!” the young dwarf giggled, feeling better. “But thank you. I suppose I _am_ doing my best, if nothing else.”

“Exactly, my boy! Now, Thorin, did you want something from us, or had you just come to borrow a book? They have some _excellent_ ones here, I must say.”

The king's hand tightened on Ori's shoulder, and he glared angrily at the hobbit.

“I have no interest in elvish books, halfing, and neither would you if you had any taste. I only came to inform you that we are leaving at dawn. If you are not ready then, we will not wait for you.”

And without another word, the king left. Ori was surprised at his sudden change of mood, but Bilbo seemed more amused than anything.

“You know, he used to scare me a great deal when I first join you,” he said. “But I'm starting to think he isn't half as mean as he's pretending to be.”

“He isn't mean at all! He is a great and generous king!”

“Yes, yes. I've noticed you admire him a lot. Well, I can't blame you for that. There's a lot to admire in him, and he has rather fetching eyes, doesn't he? But enough talking, let's go pack. I like the elves well enough, but between you and me, they just can't cook to save their lives, and I wouldn't want to be left in here when you all go have great adventures!”

Ori smiled, and followed Bilbo back to the rooms that had been given to the company, but he had a bad feeling.

He wasn't sure he liked the way the hobbit had talked about Thorin's eyes.

* * *

 

Ori didn't like the mountains too much.

He didn't like the rain.

He didn't like the height.

He didn't like the Stone Giants and their battle.

He didn't like how Thorin jumped to Bilbo's rescue, risking his own life in the process.

And for a few brief moments, he didn't like _Bilbo_ either.

 _That_ didn't last of course, because he would have been a monster if he hadn't felt sorry for the halfling when the king almost insulted him, telling him he should never have come. Bilbo had seemed so hurt by these words that the young scribe had quickly gone to his side as they started walking again, telling him that he shouldn't mind Thorin, who was just worried and tired, as they all were.

“He's right though, isn't he? I'm a hobbit, not a... not one of you. I shouldn't...”

“If you shouldn't have come, then neither should I,” Ori cut him. “And yet, here I am, doing my best. And so are you. Maybe you're not a warrior, mister Baggins, but we all enjoy your company very much, and you're a good friend. You even make Dori laugh sometimes, and _that's_ not something that happens often, I can tell you.”

“I heard that!” his older brother grumbled behind them. “Stop saying nonsense and _walk_ , Ori, or we'll never get anywhere dry!”

The young scribe sniggered at that, but Bilbo was still as grim, and that worried Ori. Their hobbit would never usually ignore a chance to joke with Dori.

“Are you well, mister Baggins?”

“What? Yes, yes... I'm just thinking, I'll probably have to thank Thorin later, he did save me after all. And I ought to thank you and Bofur too, for trying to help. That was... nice of you.”

“Oh, think nothing of it. We're friends, aren't we? That's what friends do, helping each others!”

The hobbit nodded distractedly, but did not answer, and Ori thought it better not to insist for the moment. There would be time later to convince Bilbo that they all wanted him there.

* * *

 

If Ori hadn't like the mountains before, it was nothing compared to how much he _hated_ them now that they had fallen into a trap laid by the goblins.

It didn't help that no matter how hard he try to resist, no matter how much he fought them, there were too many of the creatures, and for one that he managed to push away, five took its place, pushing Ori and the others toward he knew not what. After a while, he stopped resisting, deciding that it would be better to keep his strength for later, in case they were given even the slightest chance of escape.

They were brought before a great pale goblin with a black crown, who had to be three of four times bigger than any of the others, and the stink of him had Ori feel sick. The smell of the goblins had been bad before, but their king reeked of blood, sweat and _disease_ , and the young dwarf felt what little dinner he'd had try to escape his stomach.

They were interrogated briefly then, the goblin king demanding to know who they were and were they were going, but not one of them answered.

“Well then, if they will not speak, we'll make them squawk! Bring out the Mangler, bring out the Bone Breaker! Start with the youngest!”

The golbin king pointed toward Ori then, and the young dwarf couldn't contain a small whimper.

He'd read about the tortures that goblins could inflict, and he'd heard dwarves who had witnessed it happen to their friends on a business trip tell of it to Balin and Thorin. He knew what goblins could do to a dwarf, and how long they could keep someone alive while doing it. He knew that the best one could hope after falling in the hands of goblins was to die, and to die fast, because if they were unlucky enough to survive, their victims would never again be the same, never again be more than empty broken shells.

Ori hoped that someone in the company would have mercy, and find a way to quickly kill him. Nori, maybe. If anyone had the guts to kill out of mercy, it probably was him.

But there was movement then, and Thorin, pushing away the goblins holding him, stepped ahead.

“Wait.”

Ori stared at his king, feeling grateful for his rescue, and ashamed that he had once again needed to be saved.

“Well, well, well,” the great goblin sniggered, bowing low. “look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, king under the mountain! Oh, but I had forgotten! You don't have a mountain. And you're not king. Which makes you... nobody, really.”

Thorin tensed at those words, and though he could see only his back, Ori could easily imagine the sort of murderous glare his king must have sent the repulsing goblin. And it was just as easy to imagine the anger and fear on his face once the great goblin started talking of Azog. Thorin tried to deny it, to brush it off as an attempt to frighten him, but his posture was less confident than usual.

Ori couldn't blame him, not after all he had heard about the pale orc, and a part of him felt strangely defensive of his king. He wished he were stronger, strong enough to escape the goblins holding him and to make the foul creature tormenting his king _shut up_.

But then, the goblins discovered Orcrist.

And everything went bad.

Later on, Ori would only have very confused memories of what had happened then. He remembered the goblins preparing to behead Thorin, and then a great flash of light as Gandalf appeared out of nowhere (bless him, bless him _forever_ ). They'd all grabbed weapons, not always theirs, but whatever was closer at the moment. Nori had thrown Dwalin's hammer to him. There had been an awful lot of running and fighting and he had probably killed his fair share of goblins, though he tried not to think too much about it.

It had felt like a miracle when, at last, they had come out of the mountain. There was wind, and fresh air, and the sky above them, and Ori had never seen anything more wonderful than this sunset.

It was then that they realized they had lost their burglar.

Thank the Maker, it soon turned out they had only mislaid him, and even Thorin seemed glad to have him back. At least, he did not insult him, and seemed genuinely curious to know why the hobbit had come back to them.

That was when the wargs had come with orcs riding them.

That was when they'd had to climb up trees.

Ori didn't remember the trees.

Later the others told him about it, and he believed them, because they had no reason to lie to him, but he had no memories of his own. One moment Gandalf was yelling at them to run, and the next his was flying up in the sky, held by a giant eagle's talons as it was descending toward a great rock where some of the others had already landed.

Dori told him later that they had almost died, the two of them. Fallen from a tree on top of a cliff. Ori believed him. He had no reason not to.

He did remember what happened next, however. He remembered Thorin, pale and bloody, lying on the ground, lifeless until Gandalf used his magic on him and brought him back to them.

He remembered how the king's first words were to ask after Bilbo.

And more than anything, he remembered how his king apologized to their burglar and took him in his arms.

That was something he would never forget.

And it broke his heart.

* * *

 

Thorin was in a bad shape, and he wasn't the only one. They were all bruised, one way or another, and they were all hungry and tired. Thank the Maker, Gandalf knew someone who lived not far, or so he claimed, and he offered to take them there.

But first, they stopped on their way at a small lake, to clean their wounds and get rid of the goblin smell that clang to them.

It was then that Ori realized the state of his hands. He really must have held himself on branches then, because his palms were grazed, sometimes to the point of bleeding, and he could barely bend his right index. It almost made him cry, to think that on top of all the rest, he'd hurt his hands. If he couldn't write then he really _was_ useless to the company, and to Thorin.

He didn't cry, though. Everyone had enough problems, some of them had far more serious injuries than his, starting with Thorin of course, but also Nori and Kili whose ribs worried Oin, and Gloin who had sprained his wrist. His hands weren't in so bad a state, compared to that, so he kept silent about it and did his best to wash them without wincing too much.

He did not expect anyone to notice it.

He did not expect _Thorin_ to notice it.

When the king put a hand on his shoulder, the young scribe jumped in surprise, and almost fell in the water.

“Are you hurt, master Ori? I could not help but notice that you seemed in pain.”

“Oh, i-i-it's nothing, m-my king! Just, m-my hands... b-but it's nothing, really!”

“Show me.”

Ori did not even consider refusing. It was embarrassing to have anyone worry about him, but he still held his hands to the king, palms up. Thorin scowled and took the scribe's hands in his, delicately rubbing his thumbs on the less raw of his scratches.

“You should let Oin see that,” the king advised him. “It doesn't look too serious, but it might get infected if you are not careful. Does it hurt?”

The younger dwarf shook his head, feeling very hot all of a sudden. And how could he not have felt flustered, really? He was naked, in front of the equally naked king whom he loved, who was holding his hands in what almost felt like an _affectionate_ way.

When Thorin _smiled_ at him, Ori decided he was very, very glad that the water they were in was almost freezing.

Of course, Dori had to ruin it all. He had heard the king asking his little brother if he hurt, and like the good overprotective mother-hen that he was, he had almost run to join them, quickly followed by Bilbo, both of them terribly worried by the state of the young scribe's hands. Thorin didn't stay, probably thinking that he was in good care, and he went to check on his nephews. For half a second, Ori almost hated his brother. Thorin had been _touching_ him, skin against skin, a real proper touch, and probably the only one he'd get in his entire life.

He wished it could have lasted a few seconds more, but he tried to be glad he'd had just that already.

* * *

 

Beorn's house was a terribly nice place to stay. Of course, after the mountains and the Goblins' city and the wilderness, any place at all would have felt nice. Still, there was good mead, and delicious food, and a nice, big, warm fire around which they sat to tell stories and sing far into the night, something their host seemed to appreciate, though he disappeared at one point, and left them alone. Soon after he had gone, they started going to bed, one after the other, until the only ones left where Thorin and Ori.

The young scribe knew it was unreasonable of him to stay so late, and to draw too, of all things. His hands still hurt, and Oin had advised him to let them rest as much as he could in the days to come. And he had been determined to do just that, until he had seen Thorin that night.

He already had plenty of portraits of the king in his diary. He had drawn the entire company of course, but Thorin was featured in his sketches far more often than strictly necessary. He didn't need another portrait of the king.

But it was not a king he had in front of him that night.

It was a dwarf, a tired, worried dwarf, more handsome than Ori had ever seen him. More fragile too, or so it seemed to him. It made the young scribe want to run to him and take him in his arm, it made him want to promise his king he would protect him against everyone and everything. He could not do that, though. It would have been ridiculous of him when he could barely protect himself, when Thorin had already other people to protect him. So he had just taken his notebook, and sketched, hoping to capture on paper this new side of the dwarf he loved.

They remained in a comfortable silence for a while, each on one side of the great fire, until Thorin broke the silence.

"It was not supposed to go like that," he said, and Ori thought he was talking to himself. "Last I had heard, the road was still safe. I knew there were goblins in the Misty Mountains, but they did not live near the path we had to take. And Trolls never go down the plains, we should never have met those either. Not to speak of... _he_ was supposed to be dead. This was not the plan."

Ori put down his quill, not sure he was supposed to answer. He wasn't sure Thorin was even aware of his presence, until the king turned to him, looking exhausted.

"I would never have asked you to come, had I known things would end this way. The last thing I could ever have wanted was to put you in danger."

"We all accept that danger, my king," Ori assured him. "We knew the risk we were taking, and I do not think a single one of us regrets following you here. Not now that we have a full stomach, anyway."

That got him a smile, though it was short lived.

"Do you think me a bad king, longing for a kingdom that was lost so long ago, and without which we all learned to live? I know some blame this expedition on my pride, and my stubbornness. _Balin_ tried to convince me it was not needed, and you know how much he misses Erebor."

The question was unexpected, and told Ori much about how tired his king must have felt, to doubt himself in front of him. Or maybe it was just that the scribe mattered so little that speaking to him was like speaking to empty space, or to a creature that would not really understand the words it heard. A part of him whispered that maybe the king _trusted_ him enough to see him as a confident maybe, but he quickly dismissed that idea. He knew his place in life, and that was not it.

"I think you would be a bad king if you had no pride," he answered anyway. "But it is not pride for yourself that you have, it is pride for us, for your people. At least, that is the impression I have always had. It seems you have always done what you thought was best for... for all of us, really, and this is no different. Maybe others will doubt you, and I know they do, but you're still doing what you believe to be right, and if that makes you stubborn, then stubbornness isn't such a bad thing."

"So you are saying that I _am_ stubborn and proud," Thorin noted with a small smile.

"I-I suppose I am. But I am also saying it is a good thing, and that I admire you greatly for it."

The king's smile widened.

"Do you know, master Ori, I believe that tonight you have talked to me more than you had in all the previous years of our acquaintance."

"I apologize, my king. I suppose I should have gone to bed long ago, and now I'm babbling nonsense. I beg you to not hold it against me, I-I suppose I'm just too tired to remember to shut up. And I'm still talking. I really am sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Thorin replied, standing up and walking to him. "I would not have talked to you if I had not wanted your opinion. And I wish you _would_ talk to me more often, and more freely, instead of treating as a great monster every time I am near you. Sometimes it pains me that you are on friendly terms with everyone in our Company, that you speak and smile and joke with them, but never with me. Do you fear me so much, then?"

"It's not fear I feel, my king," Ori answered honestly, fighting a shiver. Thorin was standing right in front of him, so close they were almost touching, and there was something new in the king's eyes. Or maybe not _new_ as such, but just a thing he had never noticed before. For a second Ori dared to hope.

But then Thorin looked away, chuckling sadly.

"I believe I am just as tired as you are, master Ori, and if we keep talking, then I might ask what you feel if not fear, or I would say things that will only harm us both. Come, then. It is more than time we went to bed. Some rest will do us good."

He held out a hand, and Ori took it, letting the king help him stand up. Thorin kept the scribe's hand in his as they walked toward the straw beds prepared for them. At least, Ori thought he did, but he had no certainty, feeling as if he were in the middle of a dream. And he was more convinced than ever that it _was_ a dream when he saw his brothers had forgotten to keep any room for him, and he was forced to lie down next to his king.

As dreams went, it was not one of the worst ones he'd had.

* * *

 

It was the distant smell of honey that woke Ori the following morning, and had he not been so very hungry, he would never have opened his eyes. He felt incredibly comfortable, pressed as he was against something warm and soft.

Something that turned out to be Thorin's coat, with the king still in it.

Ori, who had been peacefully dozing, woke up completely once he realized that, and tore himself away from the king. This was the worst thing to have ever happened to him. And probably the best too, if he were very honest, but mostly it was dreadful. One did _not_ cuddle with a king in his sleep. If Dori had seen it, he would never hear the end of it. If anyone had seen it, he would never hear the end of it. The princes would tease him until his death, and so would everyone else, except for Thorin who would be furious and would hate him for ever. It was dreadful. It was...

“Are you awake then, master Ori?” Thorin sleepily asked, turning to face him.

“Y-y-yes. Sorry! I didn't mean to... I-I-I mean, I'm...”

Thorin frowned. He seemed almost disappointed, and for a moment Ori thought it was the dreadful liberties he had taken in the night that had provoked the disapproval of the king. But then, snippets of their conversation by the fire came back to him.

“I'm not afraid,” the young scribe claimed softly, feeling foolish as he said it.

But it had been the right thing to say, and after a few seconds of surprise, Thorin smiled at him. The king lifted a hand to cup Ori's cheek, his thumb rubbing gently the younger dwarf's skin.

“I am glad that you do not fear me, master Ori. But it is light again now, and alcohol no longer cloud your mind, or mine. Dare I ask then why you shiver and recoil whenever I am near?”

Ori certainly shivered then. This was a bad idea. He wasn't sure what was happening exactly, but he felt certain that it was a terrible idea. He was still half asleep, so was Thorin, and they had both drunk a little too much the previous night. If he said anything, he would probably regret it.

Then again, he had the vague feeling that if he kept silent again, he would regret it even more.

“I don't fear you, my king,” he whispered. “I could never fear you. I... could not be further away from fearing you.”

“Then I am glad, master Ori,” Thorin said, smiling widely. “For your good opinion of me is a thing I hold a very precious indeed.”

The younger dwarf felt heat rise on his cheeks as he blushed, but his eyes didn't leave the king's, not even when he turned his head slightly to leave a small kiss on Thorin's hand. The king's breath caught then, and Ori feared he had dared too much. That last fear evaporated quickly when the other dwarf moved, and he felt lips against his.

The sensation didn't last long. Someone shifted and yawned behind Ori, reminding them that they were not alone, and that this was certainly the worse place they could have chosen to do such a thing. Thorin quickly removed his hand from the scribe's jaw, then got up and went to the table were some members of his company had already started having breakfast. He greeted them all, asking how they were, wondering were their host and Gandalf had gone, as if nothing special had happened, and Ori almost wondered if anything _had_ happened.

It was easy to push away his doubts, though, when he could still fell the warmth of his king's hand and mouth on his skin.

* * *

 

The morning passed quietly enough. No one seemed to have noticed how close Ori and Thorin had been while they slept, or if they did, they chose not to mention it. Oin gave the young scribe a thick salve to put on his hands, a present from their host it seemed, and one that had him sighing in delight. He did not know what was in it, and it stung a little at first, but soon enough his pain was gone, not to return. Their healer still advised him again to rest and not move his hands if he could.

Ori ignored that piece of advice and went outside with his diary to check on his notes of the travel. The Maker only knew when he’d have time again to properly work, and he wasn’t going to waste an opportunity because of a small injury he couldn’t even remember getting. So he found himself a nice and quiet place behind Beorn’s great house and sitting in the sun, his back to a wall, he started reading his notes. He had done a fairly good job of it all, considering the circumstances, though he had almost nothing on their trip to the Misty Mountains, and he still needed to write down everything that had happened with the goblins while it was still fresh enough. And as for that business with the trees, he would ask Bilbo or Dwalin to tell him about it, and that would be good enough.

He didn’t raise his head from his work when he heard someone approaching, certain it was Dori who was bringing him lunch. He _was_ getting hungry, his brother _was_ a mother-hen who had seen him leave with his work and knew how he got when he was busy: the conclusion was a logical one.

But while lunch was indeed brought to him, it wasn’t by Dori. Not at all. Instead, _Thorin_ had made the trip with a plate of honey cakes and a mug of mead, and Ori nearly spilled his only bottle of ink when he heard the king’s voice calling his name.

“You keep saying that I do not scare you, and yet you look like a terrified bunny once again,” the king said with a smile.

“I was not expecting you, my king. I thought it was Dori, and you surprised me.”

“Your brother was busy helping our burglar make new buttons for his waistcoat, and I offered to go in his stead. I hope my presence is not unwelcome?”

“O-on the contrary, my king, it is very welcome! It was time I took a break anyway. I’ll have cramps if I go on any longer.”

The scribe closed his diary, and took the plate Thorin had brought him. The king sat down next to him then, a little closer than was strictly necessary, and their arms touched every time Ori moved to take a cake to his mouth.

“Would you mind showing my your work, some day?” Thorin asked when the silence had gone on too long.

Ori blushed at the very idea of it. Even with the events of the morning, it would be embarrassing to show his notebook when it was full of portraits and doodles of the king himself, but at the same time, he was a king. Refusing his request was not really an option.

“I c-can show it n-n-now, if you wish. It's n-not finished though. It's just notes and things, nothing very interesting...”

“You do not have to let me see it, if you do not want to,” Thorin replied. “I am not asking as a prince but as... as a friend, if you will allow me to call myself thus.”

“I-I-I would be honoured to be c-c-called your f-friend, my king!”

Thorin smiled, and took one of Ori's hands in his.

“Friend is but the first of the names I would give you, master Ori. Someday, if you allow it, I would use kinder words on you. But not yet. I do not wish to bind you to me now, when the dangers of ours quest might influence your judgement.”

“I would not mind, though,” Ori whispered, looking away. “The quest has done nothing but confirm what I have thought for long.”

Thorin smiled at that, but did not answer. They stayed silently side by side as Ori finished eating, and the young dwarf vaguely hoped that his king might kiss him again. He didn't, but at least he kept the scribe's hand in his.

* * *

 

Later that night, Thorin asked again to see his notebook, and Ori agreed.

He blushed the whole time, fearing his king's reaction to the copious amount of portraits of him in there. Maybe he would withdraw his offer of friendship and his promise of more to come. Maybe he would decide that Ori was nothing but a creep and an idiot with no talent whatsoever and he wouldn't even want him in his Company anymore.

Instead, Thorin just smiled as he gave him back his precious book.

“You are doing excellent work, master Ori. Far better than I expected, and I did expect a lot from you. Though I cannot help but notice that you have drawn all our companions, but not yourself, and that is a fault I cannot easily forgive. If you will allow it, I would like to help you with this, and draw you, so that you may take your proper place in this tale.”

“I didn't know you drew, my king.”

“I am a dwarf of many talents, master Ori. I hope some day, you will know them all. But for now, does my offer please you?”

“Of course! It'd b-be an honour, my king!”

“Tomorrow, then. I think your brother wants to go to bed, and this time he looks like he wants to make sure you do not spend the night away from him.”

“He's so _protective_ ,” Ori grumbled, glaring at Dori. “What could happen to me here, really?”

“You could be seduced by a king and ravished by him,” Thorin suggested, his voice barely a breath. “This is far from being unlikely, and your brother is right to want to protect you.”

“M-maybe I don't mind b-being r-r-ravished...”

Thorin's eyes darkened at that, and for a few seconds, Ori could see that the king seemed tempted. It made him feel almost light headed to think that his king could _want_ him, but the older dwarf was quick to chuckle as if he'd said a cute joke.

“You do not know what you're suggesting, master Ori. Go back to your brother. I said I would not have more than friendship from you for the time being, and so it will be. But be sure that I take note of your remark, and that it will not be forgotten.”

Ori smiled shyly, and after wishing him good night, went back to Dori who was indeed waiting for him to go to sleep.

“You seem awfully close with Thorin all of a sudden,” Dori noted accusingly when they were lying side by side. “I thought you didn't let _anyone_ see your notes.”

“He's not anyone, though. He's the king. He's got a right to see them, doesn't he?”

“Maybe. But I don't like the way he looks at you. Be careful, Ori. He's... I don't think he's all that bad, as far as nobility goes, but be careful, and don't let him do anything you don't want, or that you might regret.”

“You worry too much.”

“And you don't worry enough, just like Nori.”

It had Ori smiling. He wondered how his other brother would have gone about proving a king that there was no need to be careful and proper, and that he was sure of his feelings. Knowing Nori, he would have probably just gotten naked and slipped himself in said king's bedroll. Ori couldn't do that obviously, but the idea had its appeal, and he fell asleep thinking of the sort of very nice things that could happen if he ever dared to do that.

* * *

 

They left for Mirkwood a few days later, and nothing much had changed, except for the fact that Thorin had started openly sitting next to Ori for meals, and that they sometimes exchanged a few words then.

The rest of the time, everything was as before. Thorin rode with Balin and Dwalin, or with his nephews, whereas Ori stayed with Bilbo and Dori who kept glaring at the king. It felt every bit like having his parents disapprove of his lover, except he didn't even get the perks of having a lover, since Thorin had insisted that nothing more than friendship could exist between them until they were in Erebor.

Ori had never been more anxious to get to that damn mountain as quickly as possible. He couldn't wait to know for sure what _more_ could happen.

But his enthusiasm for the trip soon disappeared in Mirkwood. The dark forest was a terrible place, one that seemed to take away all his energy, all his good humour. After only a few days there, he felt like he would be tired and worried for the rest of his life, as if happiness was nothing but a foolish dream, a thing that could never come true. He wasn't the only one to feel so. Bilbo was particularly affected by that place, having never been away from the sky for so long before, and Dori had a lot of work talking to the two of them so they wouldn't get too depressed.

But even Dori started losing faith in everything after the river, when they almost lost Bombur and realized they were entirely trapped in that forest. Turning around was no longer an option, not with the boat gone away and them on the wrong side of the water. True, going back had stopped being possible long ago, since they would never have had enough food for the trip back.

“I should never have asked you to come,” Thorin told Ori the first night they had to go to sleep without eating.

“I don't regret coming, my king.”

“You will, in a day or two, when you are so thirsty you can't think of anything but water. You will curse me then, as will the others.”

“You could not know this would happen, my king. The paths have changed so much, and so recently, that not even those living near the places we've crossed knew of these changes. If I were given another chance, I would follow you again. But maybe I _would_ pack a little more food, and a better weapon than my slingshot.”

Thorin smiled, and took his hand. Everyone could see it. _Dori_ saw it, and didn't protest, did not even glare at them. That scared Ori more than the lack of food and water. If his brother had stopped caring about propriety, then they really were going to die. For all his brave words and his desire to impress his king, Ori was struck by how much he wanted to _live_. He had too much to do and see to die now, with their story unwritten, nothing more than hasty notes and sketches, and Thorin who still didn't know that he loved him, as much as a dwarf would ever love another, and when he had done no great deeds to guaranty him that he'd be welcomed in the hall of their fathers. He had not done enough to die yet.

As if he had felt his sudden terror, Thorin put a hand around his shoulder and pulled him closer, and with his warmth and his presence so near, Ori calmed down a little.

He didn't want to die, but at least he'd be with Thorin until the end.

* * *

 

Ori broke down after the spiders. He felt sick, and hungry, and tired, and in pain, and so _thirsty_.

And on top of it all, they had lost Thorin.

He sobbed, but no tears could get out.

It was more of a relief than anything when the elves came and made them prisoner.

* * *

 

Thranduil's dungeon weren't so bad, in the end. They had left him his book, because he'd cried and gone half hysterical when they had tried to take it from him. Not his most glorious moment, to be honest, but he'd been so tired and hurt, and the book was all he had left to link him to Thorin at that point, because of that portrait of him the king had drawn before they left Beorn's house. And not just that, but the diary was _his work_ , the most precious he had in the world, and if that had been taken from him, he felt like he wouldn't have survived it.

He wondered if the elf king had sent a healer to everyone, or if his little scene had earned him some special privileges. Just in case, he tried to ask about his brothers, but the elves ignored his questions.

It was such a relief when Bilbo appeared in front of his cell one morning and told him he was working on an escape plan. The hobbit told him he hadn't found Dori yet (and didn't he sound _worried_ as he said so) but Nori was fine, and already trying to gamble with the elves to get nicer food.

Two days later, Bilbo announced that he had found Dori, whose first message to Ori was 'eat it even if it's green food, you need it.' and the young dwarf was so glad to hear that again that he almost cried.

He did cry when, a week after that, Bilbo told him Thorin was still alive, and a prisoner of the elves, just like them.

“Is he well?” the young scribe inquired. “How do they treat him? Does he have enough to eat? How did they catch him? Does the king know who he is? Is he hurt?”

“Calm down, my boy! He is as fine as he can be considering the circumstances, and he asked me to tell you all that you are not to mention our quest unless he gives you permission.”

“Of course! I'd never have betrayed him like that, and neither would have the others, I'm sure!”

Bilbo kept silent for a moment, watching him carefully.

“Dori told me that it's not very polite to enquire about these thing when you're not family,” he eventually said, “but I've got to ask anyway, because I'm a hobbit, and that's what we do. Is there any... romantic agreement between you and Thorin?”

“Why do you ask that?” Ori wondered, blushing terribly.

“Because of the way the two of you were at Beorn's, and in the forest. Because you didn't give up until we thought we had lost him, and because today's the first day I've seen you smile since I've found you. And if it was just that, I'd think you have some sort of... well, we call it a puppy crush in the Shire. But then, Thorin was very affectionate to you in the forest, and when I found him, his first concern after his nephews was for you, and he didn't calm down until I told him how you were. You can imagine why I'm feeling very curious now.”

Ori nodded, blushing harder, but in pleasure this time. Thorin had _asked about him_.

“We don't... have any sort of agreement. Not yet. But he made it clear that I.... I could be the object of his attention once Erebor would be ours again.”

“But not before?”

“He thinks it's not fair to court me when there's danger all around,” Ori grumbled, rolling his eyes as if it were the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. It was. “I can wait as long as he'll want it, but it's not really necessary, because I'm as sure of myself now as I'll ever be.”

“You love him?”

“Well, _yes_. I thought that was pretty obvious?”

“And does he know?”

“Oh, it... we don't do things like that!” Ori protested. “We'd have to be courting to be saying such things to each other. I've told you before, words _matter,_ they are important, and I can't go around wasting something so precious. I can tell you, or friends because, well, that doesn't count... Saying it with words to him come later, but... well... physical contact is already enough of a declaration. He... he took my hand, sometimes, and... well, it could mean other things and I can't be as sure as with words, but I think it means he... likes me a lot too.”

Bilbo frowned, clearly unhappy at that explanation, and Ori felt tempted to ask him how things were done in the Shire. He didn't have time for it, though, because elves were coming, and the hobbit had to go hide.

After that day, whenever Bilbo came, he had a message from Ori's brothers, or from Thorin. The young scribe sometimes felt bad for using the hobbit as a messenger, but Bilbo didn't seem to mind terribly. He actually seemed very happy whenever he brought a message from Dori, which Ori found a little strange, suspicious even, but he never said anything about it. Dori had taken care of him and of Nori for most of his life, he was perfectly allowed to have a... whatever he had with Bilbo.

* * *

 

Their escape was a terribly uncomfortable business, and Ori felt sick for most of his time inside the barrel. Sick, and wet, and _chocking_.

He was getting really tired of almost dying all the time, and that was the first time he said when someone finally opened his blasted barrel and helped him out.

“I'll try to take better care of you now,” came Thorin's answer, surprising the young scribe who hadn't expected to be rescued by his king. “I will not let you out of my sight again, master Ori, if you will allow it. But first, can you move?”

“In a few minutes. My brothers...”

“Are perfectly fine,” the king assured him, kissing his forehead. “Try to rub your members, get the blood flowing again. We need to get moving as soon as possible if we want to reach the men's town before it is too late.”

Ori nodded, and did as he was told. He was sleepy and hungry, but that was a feeling he was getting used to, and at least, they were free again.

* * *

 

Laketown was a wonderful place, and Ori loved it. The men there welcomed them like heroes, giving them food and drinks and a whole house just for themselves. Women offered to mend their clothes too, or even to give them new ones made just for them. Some members of the company were reluctant to accept these gifts, especially the most noble ones, but Dori, ever the practical dwarf, thanked everyone and took everything. They had accepted charity, long ago, when Ori was still little, so they could accept gifts.

Ori seemed to be very popular, and, along with Kili, he was the one to get the most presents. Young women were fascinated by his writings, and they were begging him to draw them, promising all sorts of things to him if he did. He agreed often enough, mostly out of boredom. Everyone else was allowed to go around the town to visit, but Dori had been quick to forbid him to do so, claiming it wasn't safe, and that there were all sorts of dangers for a young dwarf in men's towns.

What dangers exactly, he wouldn't say, but Ori suspected if he were allowed to hang around, he might start having fun, and that was probably a sin in Dori's world.

Dori who started having a lot of fun with their hobbit as soon as Bilbo recovered from the cold he had caught during their escape.

That wasn't _fair_ , really.

Still, it was nice to not have too much to do, and to draw all day. Human girls weren't pretty as such, but their weird faces made them very interesting to sketch, and it wasn't so bad.

Until one of them kissed him when he gave her the portrait he'd just finished.

Kissed him, _in front of Thorin_ who, of _course_ , was coming in at that moment.

The human girl giggled when she noticed the king, as if she hadn't just done something scandalous, and she left promising she would come again.

“It's not what you think!” Ori immediately claimed. “I swear, I was just drawing her and then she did... this, and it's not at all what I thought would happen!”

“You are free to act as you wish, master Ori,” the king replied coldly. “You do not have to explain your acts to me, as I have no rights on you. Though I would advise you to be careful, your brothers might not like to see you fooling around with this girl, and neither would her parents.”

“I'm not fooling around! I wouldn't fool around with someone like _her_ , not when... not when I still hope to... to someday have someone like y- _you_...”

The young scribe blushed and looked down, fearing he had said too much. Thorin had said by the river that he would not let him out of his sight again, but in the entire week they had spent there, he had barely looked at him, had even _avoided_ him.

“I wonder, master Ori, if you realize how hard you make things for me when you speak this way,” the king sighed, and when Ori looked at him, his anger had made way to sadness. “I am trying to do the right thing, to give you a chance to run from me, and yet you keep coming to me, as if I had _anything_ to offer to you.”

That hit Ori like a blow, but he forced himself to smile.

“If you do not want me, my king, you only need to say so, and I will leave you in peace...”

“As if I could ever not want you, you foolish boy,” Thorin growled, joining him and taking his hand. “The problem would be that I want you too much, rather than too little, when I have nothing to give you. Has it ever crossed your mind that being around you and not having you is a torture? Especially now that the women of this town have chosen you as their favourite. You could have anyone, master Ori.”

“And I want you, my king.”

“You'll have a king, yes. A king is _all_ I am, though. I have been nothing else for over a century. I doubt I will ever be the lover you would deserve.”

If Ori hadn't know any better, he would have thought that Thorin, his great, noble, generous king, was every bit as scared as he was. It was pleasing and annoying all at once. It was nice to think that the older dwarf held him in such regards that he would fear he wasn't enough, but at the same time, he was Thorin bloody Oakenshield, and if he wasn't good enough, then no one would ever be.

“I do not care what I deserve, my king. I care about what I want, and that would be _you_.”

For half a second, he wondered if it would be terribly improper of him to kiss his king, just to prove his point, but before he could decide one way or the other, Thorin had pulled him close and was kissing _him_.

It was nothing like the shy, soft kiss they had exchanged at Beorn's. This kiss was all passion and fire, Thorin pushing him until they reached the wall and Ori was trapped against his king's hard body. He felt like he was burning and melting all at once, and he'd have been ashamed of the noises he was making if Thorin wasn't moaning to, his strong hands roaming all over the scribe's body.

They only separated when someone cleared his throat behind them.

“Not that the show doesn't have its appeal,” Dwalin told them with a smirk. “But I don't think you want Dori or Nori to find you like that. We've got rooms, you know.”

“We were just... talking,” Thorin protested. “We were carried away, maybe, but I assure you that we are not in need of a room.”

“I've had that sort of discussions before. Trust me, you do want a room if you two are finally going to stop being all... _you_.”

Thorin glared at him, but Dwalin only sniggered. That appeared to greatly annoy the king, who grabbed Ori's hand and dragged him away, making a point of pushing Dwalin as he walked past him on his way to his bedroom.

“Be nice to him, laddie!” the warrior told Ori. “It's been a while for him, you'll have to take it slow!”

Thorin grumbled something that might have been an elaborated curse, and hurried to his room, quickly closing the door behind him and Ori.

“Do _not_ listen to Dwalin!” he immediately told the scribe. “He likes to joke far too much, but I assure you that my intentions toward you are as honest as they ever were, even if I... temporarily lost control.”

“I don't mind you losing control,” Ori protested with a quick kiss. “And I do not mind if you have... dishonest intentions. Quite the opposite. I... I know you're a king, and you'll never... I can't ever be openly with you, but... I'll be more than happy to... take whatever you can give me.”

“Why wouldn't I be open about my affection for you?”

“I'm a mother's son,” Ori answered as if it were obvious. Which it _was_ , really. “You could never take a bastard as your consort, and even if you could, there's Nori who is... well...”

“He is a hero, one of the few brave enough to follow me here. If we survive, he'll be a lord of Erebor, and his past will be of little consequence to anyone, especially with a fourteenth of the kingdom's gold in his hands, and the same goes for you. Do you think I would have allowed myself such liberties with you if I had not intended to act honestly toward you in the end? Did you believe I'd take you as my lover but be shameless enough to not publicly claim you as being _mine_?”

“I suppose I did, my king, and for this I owe you an apology. Will you ever forgive me?”

The question was a serious one, as far as Ori was concerned. He had doubted of his king honesty, and that was a dreadful thing to do. He would have understood and accepted it if Thorin had rejected him after that. Instead, the older dwarf only pulled him closer, holding him tight in his arms.

“I will forgive you, master Ori, but on one condition. In request that, in private at least, you call me by my name. Do you think you can do that?”

“I can try at least, my... Thorin. Oh! It feels... it feels so strange...”

“You will get used to it,” the king assured him, smiling fondly. “And it pleases me greatly to hear my name come from your lips.”

“Then I shall do my best to please you... _Thorin_.”

It did feel strange, and a little irreverent too, but as a reward for his effort the king kissed him again, and Ori thought that the other dwarf was right. He certainly could get used to that.

* * *

 

The second half of their stay in Laketown was a lot more pleasant. Thorin stopped avoiding Ori, who in turn stopped drawing all the silly human girls who seemed so interested in his craft. Instead, they took every occasion they could find to be together, whether in the house or in the streets, though they both preferred to be inside if they could. It was far easier to touch and kiss and talk there, and they were less likely to be interrupted, save by Dwalin who seemed very amused by the idea of disturbing them whenever possible.

Not that he interrupted much, really.

Thorin hadn't joked when he had claimed he wanted to do the honourable thing, and kissing was as much as Ori could get. And even that he got only because he had managed to convince his king that he had been in love long before the quest, that he wouldn't change his mind, and that Thorin wasn't taking advantage at all.

They still hid it from the rest of the company. Not that Ori didn't suspect the others to know anyway, but if wasn't official yet, and no one could openly disapprove. He could tell that Dori and Bilbo weren't entirely happy with it, while Nori seemed to accept it as a fact. Kili was oblivious to it all, but Fili looked very smug, as if he'd been the one pushing them together all along. Which he probably had done, really. Balin looked like he didn't know what to think of it. Oin and Gloin stopped talking to Ori entirely, and pretended he did not exist, making it clear they did not approver of their king's choice of a bastard as his lover.

Ori tried not to think too much about it. Others would be of the same opinion, and he had to get used to it.

As long as Thorin smiled at him like that when they were alone, he could get used to anything.

* * *

 

They had to leave, eventually, and continue on their road to the mountain.

Ori wasn't sure he liked Erebor too much. It looked dreadfully sinister, and he was one of a generation of dwarf that had barely ever lived underground. The Lonely Mountain didn't appeal to him one bit, but he pretended to admire it, because it seemed to please Thorin. His king kept telling the entire company stories of how great the kingdom had been, how rich dwarves were at the time, and what sort of wonders they would create.

“And there's the Arkenstone too. The most beautiful stone the world has ever know. My grand-father used to think it was a gift from Mahal to our line, to prove that we deserved the throne. I do not know if it is more than his own wishes, but I long to see it again and to put it back were it belongs, so that all is right again.”

Ori smiled at him, but he noticed that Balin and Dwalin had exchanged a few worried looks as Thorin told of the stone. He wondered why. After all, it was nothing but a stone, wasn't it?

* * *

 

Things went bad in the mountain. Sure, they managed to find the secret door, and Bilbo appeared to do well enough, talking to the dragon (though on one of his visits, he got some of his hair burned, giving him a very strange air and making him very nervous for a long while afterwards. He still went back, and managed to anger the dragon so much that it took flight, destroyed their door (forcing them to hide in the secret passage to which it lead, with no hopes of getting out again) and then left in direction of Laketown, or so they supposed.

For several days, nothing happened, and they took to exploring the inside of the mountain, making camp in an abandoned guard room where the could see all of the plain and the lake. That was were they learned from an old bird that the dragon had been killed.

That was were they learned that they had won.

That was were they all call Thorin King Under the Mountain.

And something changed in him.

They were all obsessed by the gold, of course. Ori was hardly any better than the other, helping master Balin count everything that was in the old treasure room, drawing the most beautiful things he would find, and playing at wearing jewels and helmets, just like a dwarfling. Gold always had an effect on dwarves, and dragon gold had an effect on everyone (though Bilbo seemed rather untouched by it, and Ori wondered if hobbits were maybe just resistant to old magic). They all went a little mad, in their own way.

Thorin went _very_ mad.

The Arkenstone became his only obsession, and he ordered them all to look for it instead of fooling around and looking for their old homes and possessions. His stone was all that mattered, all of a sudden, and he requested that Ori searched for it with him.

He hardly ever let the little scribe out of his sight now.

At first Ori had been pleased by it, thinking it meant that Thorin was no longer trying to hide, that being king again, really king this time, meant he felt free to properly start their courtship. It didn't take him long to realize that the older dwarf merely saw him as a thing that was his, just like the Arkenstone, and that having lost one trinket, he wanted to make sure he always knew were the other one was. Ori didn't like it one bit, but he had no idea how to protest against it, how to make his king understand that this wasn't what he wanted at all. For a while, he hoped that Thorin would just notice that he was ill at ease, as he had often done during the trip, and that he would ask him what was wrong. But Thorin would have had to _look at him_ for that, and his entire attention was on the gold.

Ori didn't like it one bit.

All his life he had been a little nothing of a scribe, and he was used to being ignored, to being unimportant. But being taken for granted was something he would _not_ allow, and he decided to talk to his king very soon, to tell him that this was not fine at all.

He never got to do it though, because a delegation of men and elves came to ask for a share of the treasure.

If Thorin had been strange before, he became _terrifying_ after.

The men's demands, though less than courteous in their form, were rather fair, considering the help they had given the company, and what the dragon had done to them, but Thorin would hear none of it. Worse yet, he started talking of war, and sent word to his cousin Dain to come with an army to eliminate the trespassers. His nephews and some of the others tried to protest against that decision, but this resistance made him so angry that they all got frightened, and they all stopped trying.

That night, Nori told his little brother to stay away from the king until things were better.

“Gold sickness,” the thief muttered. “I've seen it before, and he has it bad. Dwalin says it runs in the family. You're not safe near him.”

“He'd never hurt me! And... maybe... do you think maybe I can... help overcome it? I mean...”

“Ori, you don't even dare to talk to him anymore, and you won't get anywhere near enough to let him touch you. You know he would hurt you, and you know there's nothing you can do to help him. I'm not sure he can be helped now. So stay away from him.”

“I'll... try. I swear I'll try. He scares me, Nori. He's not at all like that, he shouldn't be like that, this... this is not him _at all!_ ”

“Gold sickness. It does things to a dwarf, terrible things... but go to sleep, now. I'll protect you, and so will Dori.”

* * *

 

Ori did as his brother had told him. Nori wasn't the sort to give advice or orders, and when he did, Ori had learned it was for the best to listen, because he was usually right.

So he started avoiding Thorin, finding excuses not to follow him on his quest for the Arkenstone, hiding away from his king. It felt strange to think that not so long ago, they had been so happy in Laketown, that he had felt like the future would be bright and full of love, and now he was hiding from the one person in his life he had thought he'd never feel afraid of.

To keep calm, he did the only thing he could think of, and wrote. There was much to write. He described the fallen beauty of Erebor, the army of men and elves at their feet, the ravens working as messengers toward Dain, the madness of his beloved king. He wrote down everything, hoping that putting words on the things that were wrong would help him handle it better. It did, up to a point. As long as he was writing, he could pretend it was just a story, that none of it was real.

As long as he was writing, he could forget that Thorin no longer loved him.

He was sitting on the ground and sketching an old broken door when the king found him at last, and looking at him, Ori knew he was in trouble.

“Do you have a quarrel with me, master Ori? Did I displease you, maybe?”

The young scribe didn't answer, but closed his book and hold it tight against him, feeling every bit like a terrified child.

“Answer me, master Ori! I demand to know why my presence has now become so repulsive to you that you would rather stay in here that be with me! Do you think that because you now have a great fortune in your hands, you can afford to play hard to get? Did you want me to come and chase you, as if you were some great person that I needed to court? Well, here I am!”

“I thought no such thing!” Ori protested miserably, not daring to look at anything but his own boots. “I just wanted a quiet place to write, my king, nothing more.”

“And what do you write about? What is there left to write about? I took you here to write of the reconquest of Erebor, and that is now done. Your work here is finished.”

“The army at our door might be of a different mind,” Ori replied. “I-I-I am the one writing, and I feel my s-s-story isn't d-done.”

“This upcoming battle will have no place in the tale of our deeds. I demand that you stop writing about those worms who think they can steal my gold, and that you help me find my Arkenstone.”

Ori clutched tighter on his book, afraid the king might snap and take it away from him. He should have obeyed, and kept quiet, and waited for another occasion to escape.

But Thorin had told him once that he thought him brave, that it was one of his favourite things about him.

So Ori would be _brave_ , and if Thorin didn't like it, then he'd know he had lost him.

“I-I-I w-will not help you with t-that, my k-k-king,” he said, standing up, his book held tight against his chest. “I-It's not y-your gold, it's _ours_ , and y-y-you're n-not the only one who s-s-should get to decide w-what hap-p-pens of it. A-And if you d-d-don't renounce t-that idea of a b-b-battle, then you'll b-be a bad k-k-king, and a s-s-stubborn and overly p-p-proud one!”

“You dare to judge me?”

“Yes,” Ori answered. “B-b-because you said once that my g-good opinion of you m-mattered. A-and you're l-losing it. Y-y-y-you are acting nothing like the dwarf I'm in love with!”

It was the first time he explicitly said it, and it was the wrong time for it. But claiming his love for Thorin felt like a last chance. And it worked, it almost worked. For a short few seconds, the king's features softened, and he came closer to the little scribe, his hand reaching out for Ori and brushing against his cheek, as if he were something delicate and precious. It felt like a victory, and for a short moment, he had his king back.

Until Gloin came in hurriedly, because the men had sent a new delegation, and claimed there was something that Thorin needed to know, something that would change his mind about the sharing of the gold.

And when Ori saw the Arkenstone in the hands of Bard, he knew he had lost.

* * *

 

There was a battle in the end, but not the one they had expected.

Funny how quickly they had all reconciled once they had learned there were orcs and wargs on their way.

Or not so funny, maybe.

But after getting close to death so many times, Ori felt he was getting used to it.

And at least, Thorin had looked more clear headed after Gandalf had told them about the approaching army, and before he'd gone into battle, he had kissed Ori.

It had felt every bit like a farewell.

But at least, Thorin seemed to be himself again.

* * *

 

The battle was a terrible affair, and Ori felt sure he would die, even with his brothers next to him. The whole company had started the fight side by side, but they had lost sight of each others, and now the young scribe only knew that Nori and Dori where at his side, because he heard their voices and saw them helping him when he wasn't helping them.

This was so much worse than everything that had happened before.

But he fought as hard as he could.

He had to try and survive.

He had a book to write, and a king to court.

* * *

 

It was Dwalin who came to him after the battle to tell him that Thorin was greatly injured, that he might not see the light of another day. It was Dwalin who took him to the tent where the king lay, and forced the healers to allow him inside.

Thorin had his eyes closed when he arrived, but as soon as Ori took his hands, he opened them and smiled weakly.

“And here you are, master Ori,” he whispered. “I am so glad you made it out of this mess unhurt. I am so sorry for having dragged you in this, it was wrong of me.”

“You keep saying that,” the scribe answered, squeezing his hand lightly. “But I still don't have any regrets. I'd have followed you to the end of the world.”

“But you stopped following me... in the mountain...”

“You weren't _you_ , then. You are now. So I'll stay by your side, as long as you will allow it.”

“Until the end then,” Thorin commanded, his voice barely a breath. “Stay with me until the end, that is my only wish. You should be free again soon enough.”

Ori nodded, fighting tears, and kissed his brow.

“Until the end, my king.”

They didn't talk again after that.

Ori was there as the healers fought to save his king, and he was there when they thought of giving up. He was there when Bilbo was brought in, and when Thorin gave him his forgiveness and his friendship. He was there when his king closed his eyes, and their burglar left in tears.

He was there all along, and his hand never left Thorin's, not even when he finally fell asleep, exhausted after the long day, night and morning he'd had.

* * *

 

When he woke up, someone had moved him and he was lying next to Thorin.

Thorin who was awake too, and though he looked weak and in great pain, he smiling at him as if Ori were the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

“You stayed.”

“Until the end,” Ori sleepily answered. “You will not so easily get rid of me, my king.”

“Then I shall have to do my best to deserve such devotion, my love.”

Ori smiled back, and kissed him softly.

Things wouldn't be easy, and there would be all sorts of problems, people who wouldn't approve of their relation, who would think the little scribe was only interested in the king's fortune and power.

But that would be later, and for now he didn't care.

He had Thorin, and Thorin had him.


End file.
